When I was ten years old, I was perpetually the Yellow Power Ranger.

This was slightly maddening to me, as a very young, small Asian boy, to be continually cast in the playground rendition of Mighty Morphin' Power Rangers, as a very pretty, slim Asian girl.  But considering the number of racial options my peers and I had been given, it was understandable how quickly I had been typecast.

 This was even more maddening to my father, who regularly watched these Power Ranger playground plot lines turn against his son.  Around 15 minutes into recess, it would be unanimously decided that the only possible way to defeat evil was to sacrifice (beat to a living pulp) the Yellow Power Ranger.  My father would regularly chastise me for 1) needing to be sacrificed to defeat evil and 2) not running fast enough to let evil win.

 And even more upsetting for my mother, who was very confused why her son was so insistent that she pay 15 dollars for a halloween costume that was clearly meant for a girl.  "But you're a boy, not a girl, I checked," she would say to me.  "But I'm Chinese!" I would protest back.  "And this is the only way other kids will play with me."

This was the struggle between me, my childhood, and superheroes.  But for two or three years, I continued playing the Yellow Ranger.  Because I fervently believed, and still do, that I can be Asian and still save the world.

The controversy of racebending in The Last Airbender is by now, very well known to many Asian Pacific Americans.  (Or I hope so.  If you need a refresher or a catch-up, visit Racebending.com.)  The argument laid out has been very straightforward.

 1) The characters in the original animated series are clearly people of color.  The characters in the movie are clearly not, but clearly trying to be.

 2) The Director, Producer, pretty much everyone involved in the movie wanted the characters in the movie to clearly not be people of color.  But they wanted them to pretend to be.

 3) Paramount Pictures and the director, M. Night Shyamalan shouldn't get paid for a yellowface movie.

 The argument is clear, and simple, and doesn't need much further explanation.  But the tragedy of The Last Airbender goes beyond a really horrifyingly bad movie shot in yellow face.  The tragedy of The Last Airbender, for my API generation, was a beautiful, empowering opportunity that was frivolously squandered.

It's been discussed at length the virtue of seeing your own culture and people that look like you in complex, daring, and nuanced roles on television.  There is little doubt, I think, that The Last Airbender animated series does that for much of my 2.0 generation.  But it's hard to articulate the kind of joy and possibilities I see on the face of my 12 year old sister, when she watched her first Avatar episode.  My mother used to tell us myths and stories about Sun WuKong, the Monkey King, who exploded out of his Stone Egg in the beginning of time, a monkey who was armed with a staff and the ability to ride on the clouds.  You could see the flash of recognition on my sister's face when she saw Aang burst out of a round glacier in the first movie, complete with flying abilities and a cool wooden staff.  At the dinner table, you would hear her rave about how tough-girl Kitara was, and how cool it was that Aang was a Buddhist monk.  My mom looked completely confused.  "This is on Nickelodeon?  The channel that does the tv show about talking sponge?" 

"Yes, mama" my sister would reply, "He's a Buddhist monk!  I know because Aang's Chinese."

My mother drove to Blockbuster, and watched all 3 seasons in a week.

It's hard to underestimate, I think, what an event it is for my family to see an Asian person on TV.  These moments are indelible in my mind, and my consciousness.  In a really bittersweet way, these are very special moments for my family.  Helen Zia once wrote in Asian American Dreams about the excitement and screaming that once came when someone in her family saw an Asian person on television.  So at the very least, I know I am not alone.

I think The Last Airbender movie could have been a special moment for my family, even if it was a children's movie.  At the very least, it could have been a very special moment for my sister.  When we watched the first trailer for The Last Airbender on YouTube, you could almost feel my sister's face fall.  She was robbed of her special moment.  I felt robbed of a special moment.  Thinking back on childhood years of playing the Yellow Power Ranger because there were no other Asian superheroes on TV, there was something very special about having a major blockbuster film with an all Asian cast.  There was something very empowering about that possibility.  But watching the trailer, for all it's special effects glory, there was something very tragic.

I'm past the age where I necessarily need cartoons and summer blockbusters to have people who look like me in their cast.  I have long accepted the racial situation that makes that impossible.  What hurts me about The Last Airbender is knowing that my sister is at the age where it matters to her, and it matters to her growth, that she can see cartoons and summer blockbusters with people who look like her as heroes and complete characters.  These are the outlets where children develop an image for who they can be in the future, and what they can accomplish.  Even now, an outgoing college student, I rest my childhood and imagination on my mother's stories of a Asian Monkey King that could defeat Emperors in Heaven and action-filled Hong Kong movies of Jackie Chan.  I don't think it's too much to ask for my sister to have more.  

In the end, it comes to a very simple understanding.  At her age, I was being beat in a Yellow Power Rangers mask on splintered tanbark.  At the very least, I want my sister to have options with her friends on the playground.